MURDERER

  Lucian stared at the word written on the door to his dormitory. When he’d first seen it, he’d been amused. It made him laugh picturing that someone had taken the time out of their day to write this. What were they hoping to achieve? Was it a cautionary sign for others—beware of murderer—or was it to remind him of something they thought he already knew?

  As he stared at a bit longer, he couldn’t deny feeling some melancholy. He pushed past the feeling and opened up the door, looking inside. Fortunately, no one had broken in and looked through his things. Even if they had, there wasn’t much to take. He left all of his valuables at the House of Commerce, especially his gold.

  Just need my uniform, Lucian reflected.

  Even still, a persistent unease lingered in his guts.

  ***

  Lucian had thought his treatment was bad before. He had no idea.

  Almost every person that he came across treated him like he had some manner of fatal contagious disease. Before, that treatment had been limited to those who had some personal experience with Lucian. Now, it seemed that everyone he interacted with, almost without fail, steered clear of him. That behavior had been limited to students, before—now, even instructors gave him a hard time. Not all, fortunately, but enough it rattled him and threw him off schedule.

  Feel like OJ, Lucian thought in depression. Fellas… the glove doesn’t fit… please acquit…

  It didn’t take him long to find the cause. He stumbled across a newspaper that had been abandoned by some other student. His face was plastered boldly on the front of the paper in black and white—well, it was supposed to be his face. It wasn’t half as handsome in his estimation, and his eyes weren’t quite that soulless.

  And I don’t smile like that, he thought.

  When he finally found a mirror, Lucian discovered that he did, in fact, smile like that. When he wasn’t smiling, he had a tragic case of RBF. Reading through the paper…

  …misappropriated funds from a charitable organization established by his father the Duke of Villamar, leading to starvation…

  …unleashed the hounds from the kennel while the noble ladies were out practicing falconry…

  …leaked sensitive information to visiting envoys…

  …exerted influence to pardon violent criminals, employing them in Villamar…

  …nonfatally poisoned a Vantz diplomat…

  …blinded a member of the Dumane family using the sap of a euphorbia tirucalli plant…

  …gave aphrodisiac to a young man and woman, forcing an incident out of wedlock…

  “Aphrodisiac?” Lucian muttered under his breath. “Is this a bad cultivation story?”

  Lucian folded up the paper and slammed it down a bit more aggressively than he’d been intending. He stood up and paced around, stroking his forehead in a fruitless attempt to dispel the stress headache he felt. The thing that was most vexing about that article was the fact that Theobald was doing nothing to defend against these claims. He knew that was part of their strategy, but…

  “Forget this,” Lucian said, moving with purpose.

  ***

  Lucian stood in the mother-in-law suite of Aurelia’s cottage. Lydia was staying here, removed from Aurelia but not quite removed enough for Lucian’s preference. She was asleep in its bedroom, presently… at midday. Theobald had a desk prepared in this spot, with a wide variety of papers spread across it.

  “Do you think a trial is something that can be accelerated just like that?” Theobald asked, snapping. “No. It’s days upon days of dull, dull, dull information-gathering, trying to meet the burden of proof of the court of Verne. They’re flinging dung. It’s what they do.”

  Lucian held up a paper. “Did you read this one?”

  Theobald read it. “’Lucian Responsible for Sister’s Feeble Mind?!’” He clicked his tongue, grimacing a little. “I don’t remember that bit in the hearing.”

  “Because that never happened.” Lucian slammed it down. “They’re inventing it, wholesale. ‘Speculation,’ they say. And now I have to walk around with everyone thinking that I’m the worst human being on the earth. Either that, or try and retaliate and get made to look like a fool by half a thousand newspapers.”

  “People love the family of prominent figures being dragged through the mud. But this is a good thing,” Theobald said. “More people paying attention is better. When the time comes to make Cyril fall… you’d be surprised by how fast things can reverse. Everyone loves toppling giants, or comeback stories. People aren’t blind to injustice.”

  “I’d rather be a success story,” Lucian insisted. “Tried to learn some basic fire magic today. Took me an hour just to find an instructor that’d put up with me.” He bit his fingernail. “Maybe if I went personally to these hearings?”

  Theobald laughed. “That’ll make it worse. They’ll treat you like a cow, and squirt milk right into their mouth from the juicy udders of your raw emotion. That’s what trial journalists do for a living.”

  “Truly revolting image,” Lucian said with two fingers pointed.

  “You have nothing to worry about. I’m keeping Lydia well at hand,” Theobald ensured. “She’s my star witness. I’m not letting her out of my sight, not letting anyone talk to her. My team is bringing me evidence based off what she says day by day. I’ve been helping dispel the effects of laudanum withdrawal with my healing magic,” he said, illustrating some of his magic. “All is going well.”

  “No one’s talked to her? Including Aurelia?”

  “Your mistress?”

  “Why does everyone—” Lucian shook his head. “No, my mistress goes to another Collegium. You wouldn’t know her. I’m talking about the black-haired woman.”

  “She hasn’t even tried talking to Lydia,” Theobald said. “She just stays in that house all day.”

  “Doesn’t leave?”

  “Goes to the bathroom,” Theobald said. “I hope you don’t want me watching that.”

  “What about coded messages?” Lucian mimed writing. “Like… slipping letters, flashing lights at night… are they both going to the bathroom at the same place?”

  “Are you… keeping that woman prisoner?” Theobald asked.

  Lucian shook his head. “Never mind.”

  “Hey, I need to know these things. I’m your lawyer. If you’re committing crimes, it’s my job to help cover it up,” Theobald said, kicking his legs up.

  Lucian stared at him. “How did Helen turn out as she did? Whatever. We’ll talk later.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Theobald smiled as Lucian left the mother-in-law suite.

  “Endure, Lucian! Payoff will be immense!” Theobald called out.

  He was prepared to return to Verne, but something stopped him in his tracks.

  Aurelia might be able to help with the divine beast transformation, Lucian thought.

  He walked over to the cottage window, peering inside. He saw Aurelia in her decadent black fur robes, as ever. She had a broomstick in her hands. She was balancing it upright on the palm of her hand. It swayed, but she kept moving her hand to keep it straight. Eventually, it fell back and hit her on the head, and she made a strange noise. Lucian chuckled.

  I’ll ask her for help, Lucian decided. Not good to keep the dog cooped up. And I might be able to make her useless if I can develop a divine beast transformation…

  But not today. He had other appointments today.

  ***

  Lucian stared at the entrance to the Crossing Pub. He had his arms crossed, and one finger tapped his elbow anxiously.

  Within that room was Rowan’s little extracurricular club of Student Ambassadors. This was the first of many meetings that they would hold to plan campaigns to strengthen themselves for the likely invasion. After a day full of being shoved into metaphorical lockers, he felt more than a little concerned about actually attending this.

  The hell is going to happen now?

  He could picture them shouting, ‘It’s either us, or the murderer! Choose, or this relationship is over!’

  Maybe I should just go, Lucian thought.

  He’d been very excited about the prospect of using all 24 of the Student Ambassadors, plus Rowan and himself, on missions. War of Four had an arbitrary unit limit, but if that was removed? They could get so much more done, it wasn’t even funny. That was why he was thinking about going to find the eight dragons.

  I think Rowan would take my side, Lucian reflected. But that might mean the others just leave. Or it might mean he blurts out the truth, which means I get a target on my back.

  “Thought you’d be out here.”

  Lucian jumped, whipping his head back and praising the good lord. Miriam stood there.

  “You’re probably wondering whether or not you’ll get kicked out,” Miriam said.

  “No, I’m wondering how the hell you’re so quiet, considering the leg,” Lucian said, rubbing his chest as if to calm his beating heart.

  Miriam smacked her prosthesis, and it rung out. “It’s easy to sneak up on people when they’re lost in thought.” She gestured. “Let’s go. I’ve got your back.”

  Lucian sighed. “I don’t know…”

  “Just go. Or do you need me to hold your hand?” she said, offering it.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Lucian said. “Fine… fine. If I get called a murderer, you’re my accomplice.”

  “Yep. Like we agreed,” Miriam said with a few nods.

  They walked into the pub together, Lucian slowing his pace so that they could do so side by side. When they passed through the threshold…

  “Here’s our vice-leader now,” Rowan said, holding his arm out. “Lucian. Just in time.”

  The chairs and tables in the pub had been rearranged to allow for easy meeting between a large number of people. It was a bit ramshackle compared to the grandeur of the Concord, but it was homey and nostalgic. It was almost exactly as it had been in the game, with the exception of a seat prepared specifically for him.

  “What are you just standing around for? Come and sit down,” Rowan insisted.

  Prompted, Lucian entered. He took the seat beside Rowan that was almost at the head of the assembly. No one had flipped the table and called him a murderer yet, so this seemed like a good start.

  “Now, all the information I’ve shared… Lucian collected it,” Rowan said, patting his shoulder. “Why don’t you start telling them about the Legend of the Eight Dragons?”

  “…vice-leader?” Lucian said.

  “Ah, just a made-up title. I just wanted people to know that you’re the brains behind this operation.” He laid his arms on the table. “If you’re worried about their reservations, I’ve smoothed things over.”

  “You convinced us to give him a chance,” Ruth corrected.

  “The law will decide his fate. A man is innocent until he is proven guilty,” Prince Maximilian Vantz declared. He looked toward Helen. “Helen’s illustrious father wouldn’t have taken this case without there being some merit to his defense.”

  Lucian wasn’t sure that was true after having met the man, but he didn’t voice those thoughts. After being jerked around for the whole day, he almost teared up a bit as these people didn’t unilaterally heckle him, embarrassingly enough. He managed to save it by laughing.

  “Well… all I need’s a chance,” Lucian said. He glanced at Rowan. The protagonist buff was in full effect. One heartfelt, impassioned plea, and people that hated his guts set aside those enmities. “Alright. The eight dragons.”

  Lucian produced his Evercodex and laid it on the table—it was already flipped to the bit about the eight dragons. “So… just about everyone and their mother thinks the dragons are dead, right? Long-gone, hunted to extinction by overzealous dragon-hunters who wanted some shiny scale armor or dragonbone swords. I say… that’s not the case. I say the legend isn’t finished. I might even go so far as to say… some might still be alive.”

  “On what basis?” Arslan, the least happy of those present, asked dryly.

  “I think the monument to the dragonslayers is really the entrance to a shelter,” Lucian said. “I learned this by visiting the site of each of the locations mentioned in the Legend of the Eight Dragons. There, I used magic of each element to reveal a message. And the message… you have it with you, right? Don’t make me look foolish.” He looked to Rowan.

  Rowan produced a scroll, then laid it out across the table. It was a set of instructions to perform at the monument.

  “The only thing I’ve yet to do… is the instructions contained on this,” Lucian said, tapping it. “Now, the Legend of the Eight Dragons implies that there might not be actual dragons there. Even still, I think it warrants investigation. If demons are returning, artifacts left behind by dragonslayers could be paramount.”

  Lucian wouldn’t say it, but there were dragons. This was a secret late-game quest. The rewards were proportional. What Lucian was most eager to find… the Dragonwarden, his favorite character. Lucian didn’t ordinarily like autographs, but he’d consider getting one if it was him.

  Is he even literate? Lucian wondered. I don’t know.

  “This is ridiculous,” Arslan muttered.

  “Did you hear that? Arslan thinks this is ridiculous,” Denzel said. “So, Lucian… you have your one more chance.” The prince’s red eyes bored into him. “Do you really want us to spend it checking out this lead? Are you confident enough?”

  Lucian nodded without hesitation. “I am.”

  “He’s very eager to complete their extinction,” Vlad Mascare said—the thief of the group. He was small, slight, vaguely weaselly, but still handsome enough to be a playable character.

  “I’m more of a catch-and-release fisher,” Lucian said. “Anyway, that’s my proposal. Alternatively… we could pursue the leads all of you’ve been pursuing into the demon attacks. I’m fine with that.”

  That would involve going on the personal quests of those present. Lucian wasn’t opposed to that in the slightest—those had good fights, good loot, the works.

  “Shall we vote?” Rowan proposed, looking around.

  “A secret ballot, not acclamation,” Ruth Goldhain, actually from a republic, insisted. “I don’t want anyone to feel pressured.”

  An impromptu ballot was arranged. People wrote their answer, put into a hat, and then they were counted by a bystander at the pub. And the result…

  “Looks like we’re checking out the monument,” Rowan said, announcing the result.

  “How close was the vote?” Miriam asked, curious.

  “14-12,” Rowan said. “Twelve dissenters… shameful, shameful. We’ll prove them wrong, Lucian, right? Make them apologize, heads bowed.”

  “I just want to see what’s in there,” he deflected.

  Lucian had a chance. He had to make this go swimmingly.

  “In the unlikely chance there are dragons, I’ll take the liberty to prepare some things,” Lucian said. “Potions, scrolls, for all of us.”

  He looked at Denzel. The prince nodded in consent. It was like the nod a rich husband gave when his wife saw something beautiful but expensive.

  Spending someone else’s money… so nice, Lucian reflected joyously. I need a sugar mother.

  “I won’t drink anything you give me,” Rudyard Warren said. He had quite the bookish atmosphere, but remained formidably built and tan—the Confederation’s water mage. “I read the paper.”

  “What, can’t cure yourself of poison yet?” Olivia said snidely, her arms crossed. “I hope there are dragons. My father always wanted to fight one… good work, Lucian.”

  Lucian would be glad to get away, even if only for a day or two.